


Saving Julie Westwood

by historynerd97



Category: Saving Mr. Banks (2013)
Genre: F/M, Mostly Canon Compliant, Saving Mr. Banks - Freeform, idk fam im trying, this is my first fic on AO3
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2020-05-07 12:07:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19209103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/historynerd97/pseuds/historynerd97
Summary: When Julie Westwood accepted her role with the Walt Disney Company, she never expected it would result in a complete shakeup of her life. Faced with the guilt of a fatal car crash, an accident involving the President, and a secretive family life, Julie plunges headfirst into her new job. The only problem? The very married Robert Sherman is just too good to resist and she finds herself falling head over heels for a man she can't have.





	1. Prologue & Motherly Love

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all!! This is "A" here and I just wanted to let y'all know this is my first fic on AO3 and the first published chapter I have had since 2014.
> 
> Disclaimer:  
> I do not own or am in no way affiliated with the Walt Disney Company, Saving Mr. Banks, or any of the canon characters found in this novel.
> 
> The characters I own include, but are not limited to - Julie Westwood, the Westwood-Avington family, and Grace Kensington. If characters are found with a similar likeness to the reader are completely consequential. This work is based on another work of fiction.  
> Thank you.

_For Ashley & Nat, my two biggest supporters _

Prologue 

Her legs beat steadily against the back of the chair, the child no more than 9 years old, her arms folded neatly, waiting as her father stood in front of her, towering over her. His hand in a fist, her mother sobbing in the corner, a blackened eye already forming, her tears floating to the ground that rumbled beneath her.

“Next time…” Her father motioned for Julie to stand up, “You’ll come home on time.” He patted her hair gently, smoothing the curls over with the rough edges of his fingers. He dragged the knots through with them. Julie flinched. At her actions, the backside of his palm went up and connected with the soft flesh. Connected with the tears. 

“David!” The shrill voice of a beaten-down mother called, “Don’t.” Her hands shook as Julie wept silently. She had grown accustomed to these weekly occurrences. Her father, noting the tone of Julie’s mother’s voice grasped the bottle on the counter and stumbled back to the den. 

The monster had retreated for now.

Chapter One 

Mrs. Camille Westwood-Avington stood hunched over and frustrated as her eldest, and only, daughter entered the foyer, setting her coat down on the side table.

“Jean-Claude won’t like that, my flower.” Her hands, marred from days on her hands and knees, scrubbing floors, brushed across Julie’s cheek as the daughter brushed her away and removed the pillbox sitting atop her head, placing it next to the controversial coat before entering the adjacent parlor room and sitting next to the lively fire place.

“Momma, would you rest for a few minutes? Jean-Claude can handle some of this.” Camille rolled her eyes, as if her daughter was little more than a waste of time to her. Shaking her head, she returned to the fire, ready to throw another log on the blaze.

“Would you stop?” Julie grumbled, “It’s nearly 70 degrees outside already!” Her mother’s hands shook as the piece of wood tumbled from her hands and onto the floor. How frail she had become in the last 20 years, plagued by constant anxiety. As if he would come sweeping back into their lives.

“Momma…” Julie sighed, watching as her mother receded into the lavish couch cushion, looking far smaller than Julie had ever seen her. The wispy hair on her head looking grayer, although Julie knew she tried to dye it constantly, “It’s alright.” 

Julie grasped the fingers of her mother who nodded in silence, a silent tear streaking down her face, dipping below her chin.

“Are you staying for breakfast dear, he’ll be up soon and if you’re here…well…” Her eyes brimmed with tears again and Julie shook her head, sighing again as her mother lit up another one of her cigarettes, hands still shaking. 

“Has Hugo returned from New York?” Julie questioned before standing and looking at the framed picture of the four of them in Paris nearly a decade ago, “He promised to bring me word of the World’s Fair.”

“Darling, sweetheart…” Camille chuckled weakly as her daughter looked earnestly towards the fireplace's mantle, gazing at the photos Hugo sent from New York, “It’s 1962, it won’t be for another two years.” 

Julie smiled uneasily at her mother in reply, “Can I just have a cup of tea before I go?”

“Why are you here, by the way, we rarely hear from you now?”

“That’s because you’ve sent me away to live in that damned hotel, remember?”

“Lovely, aren’t you happy with it? Oh, I told Jean-Claude moving you to the Bungalows was a mistake. He didn’t think…. oh, goodness, we’ll have to move you back up to the suite and then you’ll have to move all your things again.” 

“The bungalow is fine, mother.” Julie smoothed out her dress and looked at her mother still engulfed by the lavish couch before she exited the increasingly warm room and headed to the side kitchen where the maid was not yet there, nor the cook. She grabbed the tea kettle on the site of the counter and filled the water quickly, listening attentively as her mother shuffled into the kitchen. 

“Darling, Julie.” Her mother’s hands clutched Julie’s slender arm, “If you think for a second you’re not as bright or as beautiful as the others that live there…don’t think for a second you’re not. You are just as beautiful and talented as….as….” Camille couldn’t place her finger on the other inhabitants who resided there, but found none.

“As Liz Taylor and Marilyn Monroe? Momma…I don’t...we don't... come from backgrounds like that. I don’t want to be like that, ‘sides, they aren’t there most of the time anyways.”

“Julie,” Camille’s grip tightened around her daughter’s arm, “You will appreciate the things that are given to you, all the Jean-Claude has done for us, done for you, and me…” She trailed off, exuberant and fiery, before her fingers released from Julie’s arm, “You will live this life now, go out, have fun, live a bit…he went to a lot of trouble to get them to transfer you.” 

“Yes, Momma.” Julie conceded before she heard the booming laugh come down the side steps leading into the kitchen.

“Good morning, Camille, mi amore.” The mustachioed, salt-and-peppered hair man stepped into the kitchen, clad in a far too short red robe and matching slippers.

“Julie…a surprise.” His smile dropped from the façade it had taken up, “How’s the new bungalow treating you?”

“Absolutely terrific.” Julie lied through her teeth, before diverting her attention back to her mother,“Momma, I’m going to the Disney Studios today, they’re testing callback models for a new film Mr. Disney’s working on.”

“Best of luck, my flower.”

“The Disney Studios?” Jean-Claude laughed, “You’re not a child, far from it.” He glanced at the eldest Westwood before laughing again, “If you wanted to be an actress, you should have told me years ago.” His thick accent was broken by another broad laugh, Julie recoiling slowly with each word he spoke.

“You’re much too old, now…” Jean-Claude tutted angrily under his breath. She was only 31, but he could pick out the faults, “You should have said something when you were back at the Westmont School, or better then when you were at Bryn Mawr. Arthur Miller was looking for someone then.” His fingers tapped the counter top as he thought about the last ten years.

“Here’s what I’ll do, Julie…” He looked directly at her, “I’ll set you up with a nice little secretary’s office in Mr. Capra’s studio. Would you like that?” His fingers went back to tapping along the counter again.

“No…thank you. I don’t want to be a secretary.” Julie raised her voice, and at that, Jean-Claude eyed her up, testing her, wanting her to snap. Again. 

“Why not, Julie? You’d be great at it, I promise.” He forced another smile and Julie’s lips curled back slightly in a sneer.

“Because I don’t know shorthand, and I don’t want to file the world, I want to run it…In any case," She cut the conversation short, not wanting to hear another second of what he had to say, "I must be going now, good day, to both of you.”. 

“Oh, Julie!” Jean-Claude called her back into reality, “Whatever did happen to that James fellow, by the way…James…Dean was it?”

Her hand curled into a fist, he damn well knew what happened to James, he covered it in the LA Times, for Christ’s sake, “James died, Jean-Claude.” She turned back around to face the commenter. 

“Now, Julie, you’ve known me for how long?” 

This idiotic ploy again, “Nearly twenty-five years.” 

“And in nearly twenty-five years, what have I told you.”

Julie deadpanned, feigning shock, “What have you told me?”

“Papa!” He cried out, grasping her fingers playfully, “You, you must call me Papa, like Hugo.”

“Next time, perhaps,” They both knew what a sham that was. In the twenty-three years since Jean-Claude had walked into their lives, uprooted them from their quiet home in the valley and sent Julie to boarding school and Julie’s mother inside this mansion, they had been bickering over names. Hugo was a mistake, Jean-Claude was one half of an affair, he was one of the head producers for the Los Angeles Times. Camille Westwood was a maid at the office. It has been a mistake, but then David Westwood had died, in a car accident, drunk. 

And Camille was with child, Jean-Claude’s child, and the decision was made to wed. Camille didn’t want it. Julie didn’t want it. But it was 1939, it was the only thing the two could do. But, when Hugo was born, the executive decision was made to send Julie to boarding school in Montana. She received a fine education, but in return she was silenced. Hugo grew up with an adoring (and rich) mother and father. Julie grew up with twice yearly visitations when her mother would visit for Christmas and Easter…the day’s following, as the actual holidays were spent with their real family.

Hugo, a young 23, knew Julie simply as Cousin Julie. There was no half-sibling attached to her name. There was more secrecy between the family then there was about Marilyn Monroe’s affairs. And Jean-Claude, while he put on large airs of endearing feelings towards Julie, was consumed by her last name, resentful of where she had come from, inferior to the Avington name. 

“Well, Momma, I better get going,” She hugged her quickly, placing a light kiss of the aging cheek of her mother before showing herself out.

“Julie, remember to fix your hem, it’s a bit short for an interview!” Jean-Claude’s voice called and she curled her hands into fists, silently screaming towards the front door.

“And darling, don’t forget the garden party in two months, I’ve already told Mrs. Worthington down the street that you’ll be there!” Her mother’s voice carried after his and Julie sighed. Yet another day she would have to lie to Hugo and pretend to be a person she clearly was not. 

She exited the door, coat and pillbox in hand as she walked towards her car before sliding gracefully into the driver’s seat. She had a set to get to, makeup to finish, and warmups to practice. As she pulled out of the driveway, hands tightened around the wheel, she found she couldn’t concentrate. Jean-Claude had sent her into a panic mode – if he, someone who had been reporting and editing and knowing about all of these things for years, didn’t think she had the ability to accomplish this, who would?


	2. An Introduction to Disney

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise you I have so much more to give with this story...I just constantly never find the time to publish. Thank you to those who have continued to support this story, even just one chapter in!

The way to the studio was marred with angry drivers and sweltering heat. Even in mid-February, temperatures were almost above 80 degrees and the dress she was wearing was already collecting sweat under the high-collared button down jacket that accompanied it. Her mind was reeling again, thinking of what Jean-Claude had mentioned, feeling weaker than before, feeling more worthless than before. Her hands shook as she reached into her coin purse to hand the man at the entrance of Walt Disney Studios the money she needed to park. Julie didn’t even pay attention to the gate being raised. It wasn’t until a car honked behind her that she looked up, angry and revving her gas, speeding quicker than she expected the car to go.

Within moments she had found a parking lot and exited the car, throwing the door shut as a man exited the door of his car next to her, the same car that had honked at her, before the black automobile drove off, leaving the two of them alone.

“Just who do you think you are?” Her voice shook with anger and frustration. She hadn’t meant to take it out on the defenseless passenger of the car, but, by this time, her nerves were shot, her anger becoming the only source of reason as she attempted to get his attention. She shouldn't have started anything, but she certainly wasn't going to let him off the hook that easy. 

“I was moving, you didn’t have to honk so rudely!” She stumbled forward, her legs trapped in the form-fitting skirt, pillbox off-centered and covering half of her eye.

The man looked onward at her from the sidewalk, smiling brightly before coughing. She caught up to him before taking a full foot step back upon realization who the man was. Julie found herself face-to-face with the man of the hour, her current boss, none other than Walt Disney.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Disney. I had no idea.” The words formed apology after unwavering apology before Julie stood in silence, watching as the aging man laughed at her feeble attempt of reconciliation, another loud cough following his every breath. 

“It’s not every day I get yelled at for a car I didn’t drive. The name’s Walt, nice to meet you.” His hand outstretched, a candid twinkle in his eye as he waited for her response.

“Julie Westwood, sir.” 

“Walt-.” He corrected.

“I’m Julie Westwood…Walt.” The name sounded foreign and unnatural on her tongue, she had been referring to him as ‘Mr. Disney’ for years, far long before she had even known this company. Disneyland and his television show were a household name. Her hand grasped his firmly before placing it rigidly back by her side, after fixing her hat in the process. She was nervous now, far more nervous than she had ever been before – was he going to be in the interview? How was she even going to get the job if she had just yelled at the man who created the films in the first place.

“Well, Julie, I hope you have a wonderful day.” He coughed loudly, once again, before entering the building to his right and once again, Julie was alone. Her thoughts consumed her, swirled around her, wondering if Walt Disney even knew why she was there. She came to the conclusion he did not know, why would he know, he oversaw movies, he didn’t deal with people like her. Hell, she had been asked by someone who didn’t even work for the company, a third party, at a small boutique she was visiting on Rodeo Drive with her friend, Grace. 

Julie had gone through the motions, through the open audition where she rehearsed lines in a British accent, through the callback audition where she had to dance and sing, and finally here, the final callback where she had to convince the Disney executives producing the film. She wasn’t sure what to think, maybe Jean-Claude was right, maybe she was too old for this, nearly 33, wondering what the hell she was doing here. It never occurred to her that maybe she was insane for thinking she had a shot. Julie merely went with the flow, trying to carve her own path in life. So far, she hadn’t been very successful. 

She walked along the shrub lined paths, curious at the buildings, filled with pictures from Snow White and Cinderella and varied short animations until she finally entered the Animation Building. The ground floor was vast and empty, with legal names lining doorways and financial institutions bearing down for another busy day at work, fingers typing religiously at a typewriter.

She took the elevator to the third floor, riding alone as the chrome elevator doors finally opened to reveal her at a crossroads. At one end of the hall, there was a sign bearing the titular name Disney on it, in what she could only assume was the famed man’s office. Julie decided to walk the other way, to where the sound of music was stemming from, beautiful and melodic, a ballad, like a children’s tune. The door was open slightly and a man sat at the piano, pristine and proper, similar to the one standing above him.

Julie peered in quietly, trying not to make herself known. But it was to no avail. The door squeaked open and the two men looked up from their work, surveying their interrupter. The one standing limped hastily towards the door, before slamming it open, staring down Julie with an intensity that could not be matched. His bright blue eyes held her's intently, a frown on his face, but a handsome face at that. He was stoic and proud, but Julie knew just from the look of him that he was attractive. 

“Have you ever stopped to think that maybe we weren’t looking for company?”

“No…excuse me!” Julie retorted back, but leaning precariously into the crook of the door frame, shocked and curious beyond words.

“Yes, excuse you! We’ve been working on this all day and you-you have the audacity to just come in here and…!” He stopped abruptly after the sharp tone of the other’s voice came into clarity, a sharp exhale of his name.

“Bob, she didn’t mean anything.” The one, still sitting, tapped his hands on the piano wood slowly, laboriously, as if watching this scene play out, merely a member of the audience.

“Dick, we’ve been working on this all morning. First Don, now this, God knows I can’t handle another interruption!” His hands balled up into fists, the frustration remaining as he walked heavily over towards the other, the soles of his shoes squeaking on the newly waxed floor.

“If you wouldn’t have left the door open, maybe I wouldn’t have wondered in!” Julie yelled back at the other who looked up in surprise, the one named Dick’s fingers hitting the piano keys in shock.

“Well, maybe if you weren’t here in the first place!”

“Well, maybe if you didn’t have a stick up your ass!” 

“Maybe you should go…” The argument had ceased, Julie had crossed a line and everyone had known in. A girl outside had stopped outside the door.

“Who are you anyway?” Julie pondered, not taking his advice, continuing further into her quest to come out on top of this argument. 

“Bob Sherman. You?” His voice raised an octave, but the words he spewed sounded like pure hate to Julie. She grimaced at him.

“Julie Westwood.” She glanced haughtily at the two of them, looking at each of them closely until she turned, exiting the room, making it a point to slam the door loudly.

A girl stood to the side of the room, a cute little thing, with dark brown hair curled dramatically up at the end.

“Can I help you, Julie? I’m Dolly, one of the assistants for 3H.” She gestured down the hall to Walt’s office and Julie nodded, smiling slightly, still upset from the previous ordeal.

“I’m here in regards to the model acting position, for the upcoming film.” Dolly lit up immediately, traversing back down the hallway.

“Oh, we’re so pleased to have you Julie. You’ll be auditioning in here…” She opened the door to a large office where another piano stood, along with some drawing boards and a table. “Is there anything I can get you while you wait?”

With a brief reply of thanks and the glass of water being left of the table did the assistant leave. Almost immediately after, an older gentleman filed into the room and introduced himself as Don DeGradi, one of the head story writers for the film. He explained in detail the inner workings, how he was waiting for his colleagues, looking forward to auditioning Julie. 

The colleagues filed in a moment later amidst paper shuffling and a great deal of talk as Julie turned around to face the other two. And again, she came square in the face with Bob Sherman.

“You’re interviewing me?” Her eyebrow raised, lips pursed, as he walked steadily with plain black cane. 

“You’ve met?” Don had chimed in, but Julie wasn’t paying attention. She was carefully surveying Robert Sherman with utmost intense, but if he had just freaked out at her for opening a door, she wouldn’t have guessed it from his professional, and at times, downright apathetic demeanor. 

“Briefly…” Julie turned her attention back to the head writer, who smiled before introducing them formally, “Robert and Richard Sherman…” His voice wavered as he noticed Bob staring blankly at his papers before returning a reassuring smile to Julie, “Music and lyrics.” 

Julie nodded understandingly, when in fact she didn’t understand at all. The interview went quickly, through all the motions, through an acting and singing sample to just answering generic questions. 

Then the last question came up that left her floored, “Are you single?” Dick Sherman had asked, a question that left Julie floored. Could they even ask that? That had to be illegal, shouldn’t it? Why should this matter?

“I really don’t appreciate that sort of question.” Her eyebrows furrowed together, obviously displeased. And within moments the younger of the two brothers was backtracking, trying to explain himself, that it was only meant to be about time commitment, only about if her husband would mind.

“I think she’s perfectly capable of handling herself.” Bob retorted under his breath, but Julie had stopped in her tracks, momentarily lost. They had all heard him. She finally regained her composure before answering out a very meticulous statement.

“With all due respect,” Her voice shook fiercely, full of passion, “I don’t think that is the appropriate phrasing. Yes, I’m free. But my personal life concerns my life and mine alone. I don’t care if there’s 500 men in the room asking about my marital status, I don’t care if Walt Disney demands to know, I refuse to answer.” They were silent, all three of them. But, damn it, if she wasn’t going to answer this question and not get the job, so be it. Julie didn’t want to work for a company that preached fast waning patriarchal ideals. She didn’t want to go through with a job where her creative input wasn’t appreciated. She didn’t want to sit back and wait for a man to take over.

“Well, Julie, you’ve certainly given us a lot of things to think about.” Don spoke after a few seconds of increased silence. 

“Yes, I hope I have.” Again, there was a pause are her forwardness.

"Bob, could you show her out please?”

"But, I just-.” His response came.

“Please?” DeGradi nodded towards the doorway, writing notes down fastidiously. 

He walked her to the door carefully, watching Don out of the corner of his eye. His movements were calculated, cold, avoiding her. She had merely walked in on them singing, why was he acting like she had the plague? His hands fumbled for the door frame and Julie smiled politely, trying to look him in the eye. He avoided her gaze. 

“Thank you.” She turned back around and Bob nodded quietly. Despite his mannerisms, he was rather attractive, dark hair, tall. His proud demeanor shown through quietly, but strong, as if he were destined for great things. His eyes were piercing blue and held her gaze momentarily before snapping away and turning back towards the other two men in the room.

Julie exited the room quietly and made her way back to the elevator. Had she crossed a line in there? She had done her best, but there was no other option she had but to speak her mine. She had to let her voice be heard. She was not backing down. 

Her mind told her she had done the right thing, but the more she thought about it, the more she pondered her moves, the more her heart told her that she should have just submitted to their questions. She was at a crossroads with no discernible path to take and she was stuck until they made the next move.


	3. Grace's Predicament

Feet padded across the floor, designer shoes thrown carelessly in the front foyer of one of the bungalows, Bungalow number 3, to be exact, situated right between Miss Monroe and Miss Taylor’s private abodes just the same. The doorman had greeted Julie on the way in and she nodded tiredly, gripping the small tote she was carrying through the door. She had been up for hours by the time the clock hit 2:00pm and the thick Los Angeles air was not making it any easier to feel alert and active. 

Julie’s dark hair was frazzled and sticking up from all ends from the mid-day heat and she was desperate to take a nap, her energy wasted on both the audition and arguing with the Sherman brothers. _What a silly move._ She thought callously as she padded to her kitchen to get a glass of water. There was no way she was going to get that part, especially with the thousands of younger, more beautiful girls that could act and play the part better than she could. How many women had they scouted? How many women had they auditioned? Not to mention her tawdry little resume, which was anything but stellar, she had never held a formal job, and her degrees in French and Literature from Bryn Mawr were not exactly what someone like the Walt Disney Company employees would call high demand.  
And then there had been that run-in with Walt Disney himself, oh, she had looked like an idiot the moment she stepped onto the Disney property, picking fights with the owner of the multi-million-dollar brand himself. If Jean-Claude got word of this behavior, she hated to think what kind of consequences would be taken against Julie, or worse, Julie’s mother. Jean-Claude was not one to truly be physical, but he could be manipulative, and being the head of such a prominent newspaper, he knew how to twist other private companies’ arms to get what he wanted. 

And Julie had been warned about her actions before, resulting in the separation of her from her mother when she had been on the verge of just becoming a young adult, forced to hide away in the Beverly Hills Hotel while Hugo continued his schooling from the comfort of their own mansion. There were the boarding schools and the east coast colleges, her mother never seeing her with the exception of the day-after holidays, when all the glitz and glamour of Thanksgiving and Christmas had already faded. 

Her eyes narrowed in on the picture frame hanging in the doorway, her mother had taken the photo. Hugo was a child, a toddler really, and Julie had been visiting from boarding school, under the pretense that she was his cousin, they had gone on a carousel together at the park. Central Park, to be exact, it was the first year they all spent Christmas together, and the last, from the comfort of a Brownstone in the Upper East side of New York City. Her heart melted slightly, looking at the picture and wondering if she should risk calling up Hugo, being in New York, he was far enough away that Jean-Claude wouldn’t find out for a few days and she wanted to know what had been going on with the World’s Fair. He was always telling her exciting news of New York.  
Hugo was dashing in a very classic sense, taking more after his father than his mother. Perhaps that was better, Jean-Claude certainly could not deny him. He had a chiseled, angled face and thin lips. The hair, however, was a Westwood trait – dark, thick curls that he was born with. Just as Julie had been. Hugo liked to joke that Julie and him were long lost siblings, instead of cousins. If only he knew the half of it. Hugo had gone to Wharton, the business school in at the University of Pennsylvania. Following that, he started with a job on Wall Street. He had been in New York City for the past year and was loving every moment of it. 

Averting her eyes from the bittersweet picture, Julie took to looking into the full-length mirror in the foyer. She sighed, pinching a bit of skin at her waist, leaning forward to look more carefully at her complexion. Perhaps Jean-Claude had been right, and it was time for her to settle down. She assumed he would be able to arrange a marriage between either a closeted homosexual or someone merely looking for a front so they could continue their bachelor-esque lifestyles in secrecy, putting up a front, but shrouding Julie to a life of deeply deformed misery to stay home and make babies and live unhappily. She had, unfortunately, been at the receiving end of both relationships before. Not that she minded covering for Monty when he needed her to. 

“Just _what_ do you think you’re doing?” A feminine voice called from across the living room. Julie looked up in shock, watching as the petite blonde stood up and stretched, a blanket wrapped around her, so she looked like a Greek goddess when she sauntered forward. 

“You’re still here, Grace?” Julie chuckled, before turning on the hot plate in the adjacent open kitchen and beginning to boil water for tea, “I thought you would have left hours ago.” She pointed directly towards the clock on the other side of the room, “It’s nearly 2:00 PM.” She chuckled airily again and retrieved two mugs from a cupboard.

“Well, I got back late last night.” The blonde scoffed before sitting at the small kitchen table, still shrouded in the deep beige blanket.

“Exactly how did you end up here, by the way? You live all the way across town.” 

“Well, my dear Juju, that poor cabbie found out I didn’t have any cash on me and refused to take me back to Calabasas.” She replied meekly, fascinated by a speck of dust on the table.

“You’re staying back with your parents again?” Julie chastised, taking the whistling kettle off the table and pouring them into the mugs, sinking into the plush chair next to her friend, “I thought you said you weren’t going back there, not after the last argument with your pop.”

“Daddy told me that as long as I don’t come back completely trashed, I can stay there as long as I want. Even so, when they die off, I’ll get the estate and the ranch anyway.”

“You’re horrendous,” Julie gaped, wide-eyed at her friend’s candidness, “So, you just plan to crash here every other night then?”

“That’s the idea!” She giggled wildly, before draining her tea quickly, “Look, when the keel over, you can have Spangled Star’s foal, that whole line is filled with Kentucky Derby and Preakness winners.”

“Gee thanks, a horse in exchange for a drunken fool.”

“Yes, but I’m your drunken fool.” Grace pointed out before standing up quickly and flopping back onto the couch, turning on the television with the brand-new remote-control Julie had received from her stepfather a mere two weeks ago. It was no secret that Grace was the party girl of Los Angeles, the news had gotten old in tabloids months ago.   
Grace Whitney was the daughter of Cornelius Vanderbilt Whitney, one of the youngest of the group, third in line to take over the company, and sole heir to the Calabasas mansion and the racehorses in New York. 

“Are your parents even home?”

“Mother says Daddy’s away, some New York government thing, but she keeps tabs on me. Not to mention all the maids…. they’ll rat me out in a jiffy and then I’ll be shipped off to upstate if I don’t keep in line.” She sighed dramatically, “That’s why you gotta’ let me stay here, Juju! Marilyn invited us both out tonight and you know how lovely things get when she goes out!” She squealed excitedly, moving on to yet another topic.

“Not tonight,” Julie deliberated, looking towards the French doors leading out to a community pool where the rich and famous were lounging on chaises or swimming underneath built in waterfalls, “I’m busy tonight.”

“You’re always busy, Julie Westwood,” The blonde shook her head, her blue eyes shining crystalline glares as she narrowed her orbs in Julie’s direction, “Always making excuses to not go out. When was the last time you went out with Marilyn? Or with Liz? Now I know the two of them don’t get along, but we always have the best of times-”

“And you get too drunk and end up in the papers!” Julie cut her off, throwing her mug down in the sink. 

“You’re mean when you’re tired, take a damned nap.” Grace shifted away from Julie, transfixed on whatever was playing on the television.

“Thanks for the suggestion, dear,” Julie said callously, rolling her eyes at the girl, “Next time, when you think about entering a person’s house, try not to insult them the moment they get home.” She shuffled down the hallway towards her bedroom.

“Jules,” She heard the whine of Grace come from down the hallway as Julie grumbled quietly to herself, throwing the chestnut tresses up in a clip before laying down on her bed. “You know I didn’t mean to upset you.” She had no sooner lay down then the voice at the door reminded her and Julie sighed, nodding in her head in slight recognition.

“Because I would never try to upset you Juju, you should know that. But you spend all day moping in here and I don’t want to see you waste away…” She trailed off taking a deep breath, “But nothing is going to bring back James, hon.” Grace had taken off the blanket that she had swaddled herself in and laid it on top of Julie, sliding next to her.

Julie looked up at the ceiling as a tear slid down her cheek, lying as she usually did before she fell asleep, feeling nothing but regret and anger as she struggled to sleep.

“I just…I miss him, I miss talking with him. We may not have been together, not at the end, but I loved him.” Her voice faltered as Grace’s slender arm snaked around to hug her friend around the waist, their legs tangling together, Julie’s head on her best friend’s shoulder.

“I know,” Grace smoothed the hair on top of her head with her free hand, cradling Julie in her arms, “It’s okay.” She whispered, looking solemnly at Julie who had tears cascading down her face, silent sobs wracking her body.

“Shh, shh.” Grace struggled to form the right words to say, didn’t know how to comfort the watery-eyed girl as she watched her struggle for breath, watched her struggle to understand how much it pained her to live life every day, how much it hurt to move on without him.

“I shouldn’t be here.” Julie whispered into the bright room, for the sheer curtains on the windows did little to keep out the hot afternoon sun, the only thing keeping them from boiling was the central air conditioning that had been installed just a few years prior, “He should be here, not me.”

“Darling, don’t say that!” Grace responded, a hushed whisper but still managing to sound louder than intended, “You are here because the car didn’t hit you, it hit him. Head on, I mean he just ran into the driver’s side-.”

“Enough,” Julie coughed loudly, her tears subsiding, “I know what happened that night.”

“I know Jules, I know.” She ran her hands through the girl’s hair again, watching as her eyes closed tightly and she started to fall into a restless sleep, sleep that she had experienced for many nights and days now, sleep where she would wake up screaming or crying or it would take hours to get back to sleep.

Although Julie put up a good front of having to care and protect Grace from the fails of modern society and the use of popular tabloids and scandals, there was a fine line that was extremely hard to tell who needed who more. And when Julie fell apart, crying into the stale night air or the beating afternoon sun, it was quite obvious that she needed Grace more than Grace could ever need her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Grace & Julie's relationship. Sorry for my lack in posting - maybe with this whole quarantine thing, I'll be better at updating...I hope.


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